


and our work is never done

by eg1701



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Bigotry & Prejudice, Capitalism, Class Differences, Cyberpunk, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rebellion, Spies & Secret Agents, Tom's internalized biphobia, Violence, and, as always, kind of, thats the whole plot so, the dystopian hellscape kind
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-26 12:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eg1701/pseuds/eg1701
Summary: Waystar runs the world-- almost at least. The rich live in a utopia, technology solves every problem, and Tom's living his dream. He's engaged to Shiv, about to launch his career, and he's a far cry from the boy who left the Midwest for a brighter future. Thankfully.Greg's full of anger, his grandfather's expectations, and the weight of an entire resistance. He takes the job at Waystar because he does what he's told. And he's pretty sure Tom is everything that's wrong with the world. Needless to say, he'll be happy when it's all said and done and he can retreat back home.Until life changes, and Tom and Greg both realize things aren't as cut and dry as they would like to believe.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch & Ewan Roy, Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans, Siobhan "Shiv" Roy/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 17
Kudos: 15





	1. silver screen, cathode ray, brighter than the light of day

**Author's Note:**

> i'm back and somehow even worse than ever before! 
> 
> the cyberpunk (a game i haven't played)/hadestown/ hunger games (and every other early 2010s dystopian novel you can think of/ ready player one hard sci-fi techno-future au i am positive not a single person asked for, but waystar can be a capitalist hellscape media conglomerate, as a treat
> 
> title and chapter titles all come from hadestown (pls listen if u haven't its amazing)

The alarm clock blared it’s high pitched ringing, and Tom reached out a hand to smack at it. It took several tries to hit it right, since he didn’t want to open his eyes to the morning yet. The morning news read him stock prices and world news in the vaguely female voice of the computer, and Tom opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. The room was still dark. 

“Open the curtains would you?” he muttered, in the vague direction of the window. Shiv was noticeably absent from the other side of the bed. He ran a hand over the cold cotton sheet and pushed himself up. 

The curtains slid open. It was a bright clear day. The weather readout on the glass told him it was a sunny fifty degrees out, not a cloud in the sky. He debated pulling the covers back over his head but thought better of it. This was his first day at Waystar. Showing up late-- or even worse, not showing up at all, was not the way to make a good impression. Especially since Logan wanted him in the office when he arrived. Usually he tried to avoid one on one interactions with his soon to be father in law, but this one was unavoidable. 

With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed. The alarm clock continued to talk about a trade deal that had been signed overnight, and he dug around in the closet for something to wear. Last night he’d had his shirt and pants pressed and after a quick glance in the bathroom mirror, he figured this was good. 

He stood in front of the window to look out at the city while he tied his tie. At first, living this high up had been daunting, but he’d grown used to the views. Especially at night, when the city really came alive, in neon lights and sirens. The eighteenth floor was distinctly separate from that life. Tom sort of liked looking down on everything.

“Hey computer?”

“Yes Mr. Wambsgans?”

“How’s the metro this morning?”

The computer calculated for a moment, “The metro is currently running 2.34 minutes behind schedule with a ten minute delay on all lines out of Brooklyn.”

“Thanks,” he replied. He sometimes found the never changing chipper-ness of the house’s computer system to be a little creepy, but this morning he had bigger things on his mind. Like how nervous he felt. Like how he thought he might be sick before he even got on the metro in the first place. 

As he put on his cufflinks he made his way out into the kitchen where Shiv was still in her silk robe, flipping through her screen while sipping her coffee.

“Morning,” she smiled at him over the mug, “Big day huh?”

He chuckled and paused to kiss the top of her head before making his way over to the counter. She’d already had coffee sent up, and he picked his up. The screens in the living room where playing ATN, and Shiv seemed to be half paying attention over the news on her own screen. 

“I can’t believe I’m finally in the mothership,” he said, leaning against the counter, “it’s like my fucking fantasy is finally coming true.”

“Hey,” Shiv said, finally turning in her chair to give him her full attention. He thought she was always especially beautiful in the mornings, when she still didn’t have her makeup on, and her hair was back and out of her face. She was beautiful all the time, of course, but when they were alone together in the early mornings, he wondered how he’d managed it all, “I forgot to tell you. My cousin’s coming, from up North. He’s down on his luck or whatever. I think he’s got a job at Waystar or whatever so you think you could take him under your wing? Just for a bit until Dad finds somewhere to stick him.”

“Sure,” Tom replied. He felt a kind of weird satisfaction at being asked to show a _Roy_ the ropes at Waystar. That had to count for something, “Which cousin is this?”

“Greg, I’m not sure if you’ve met him or not. He doesn’t usually come to family stuff,” she said. Her watch dinged and she looked down to answer, “Shit, I gotta take this. You can just look him up. It’s Hirsch. Greg Hirsch. Just play nice with him or something. Have him get your coffee. It doesn't matter.”

“Shiv I don’t need to _worried_ do I? About my place in the company? Now that your cousin’s shown up?”

“Oh no honey,” she came over and wrapped her arms around his waist, “You’re in. Greg’s just lost or something. He’s… just don’t worry about him. But Dad will be pleased, I think, if you show him around a little bit. That’s all. You know how Uncle Ewan can be, and Dad wants to keep things civil until the deal's all settled.”

He kissed her forehead, “Go take your call. I’ll see you tonight.”

She stood up on her toes to kiss him. Her watch dinged again, she slid out of his arms and off to get ready for work. He finished his coffee slowly, keeping an eye on the time. It would be easy to head downstairs and have a driver take him downtown to work, but he had his mind set on taking the metro today. Usually he didn’t like mingling with the others in the city, but it would give him some time to himself to reign in his nerves before he stepped into the office. 

“Computer, look up Greg Hirsch. Should be Shiv’s cousin,” he called, digging around for something to eat. He wasn’t really hungry, but he could hear his mother shouting at him for going to his first day on an empty stomach and he might as well try to find something to eat while the computer searched. 

“Gregory Hirsch,” the computer replied cheerfully.

“Screen 2,” he called back, opening the pasta takeout from last night. It looked edible enough, and he knew Shiv wouldn’t eat it. He heated it up and dumped it onto a plate, taking it into the living room with him so he could examine Greg’s history while he ate.

“Anything interesting?” Tom asked. 

“Unable to execute,” the computer replied, “Please rephrase.”

“Right,” Tom took a bite of the noodles, “What’s his degree in?”

“Unable to locate college or university degree for Gregory Hirsch.”

“Interesting,” Tom mused. It was a family business though. Nepotism shouldn't have surprised him. It was a bit unfair to study Greg before they’d even met, but if Greg had any sense, he’d have done the same thing. That’s what you did before you met someone. That’s why these databases existed. 

“Let me see him,” Tom said. He half expected someone who looked like Kendall or Shiv, but Greg must have resembled the Hirsch side of the family. There were several photos Tom flipped through. Greg and a shorter woman at what was probably his high school graduation. Greg and, funnily enough, the Roys, though the photo showed them as children. He smiled at little Shiv, in a dress her mother had most likely forced her into. Roman was still taller than her. He flipped again. 

“Oh a mugshot,” Tom laughed, and waved with his fork for the screen to pause on a younger looking Greg’s mugshot. He had a black eye, and seemed more angry than embarrassed at the whole thing, which was sure to have made his grandfather unhappy. Tom hadn't ever met Ewan Roy or his side of the family, but if he was anything like Logan, he was probably pissed at his grandson's behavior, “ _This_ is what I meant by interesting.”

“Noted Mr. Wambsgans.”

“Computer, let me see the criminal history please,” Tom said, and thought he sounded a bit too eager given the circumstances. At least Shiv wasn't here to make fun of him over it.

It didn’t really matter what Greg had done. Rich people committed crimes all the time and got away with them. It was interesting that it hadn’t been scrubbed from the database though. Besides, Tom needed all he could get to have an upper hand. He’d been stupid to think that he could have possible fit in with the Roys. If Greg had a criminal history, then Tom needed to know it. This was one Roy who was not going to be able to have any kind of fun looking down on him. And he was just being nosy. Greg wouldn’t ever know.

“Three underage drinking charges, two drug charges, and one truancy charge. There are also several arrests during protests and assorted mischief,” the computer said, “85 percent of the charges were dropped with no penalty.”

“Huh,” Tom nodded, and wondered if Shiv knew about that, “What kind of protests?”

“Searching.”

Tom finished his pasta and waited. He had a feeling, given how long it was taking the computer to produce anything, that there wasn’t much to discover. 

“Unable to locate information Mr. Wambsgans.”

“That’s alright,” he said, though he was slightly disappointed. He imagined Logan did not like anybody even remotely related to him to have been involved in any kind of civil unrest. It was bad for business, “Thanks computer. How’s the metro?”

“The metro is now running as scheduled. All lines out of Brooklyn are now running on a five minute delay.”

“If I leave now, how long will it take me to get to the financial district?” he called over his shoulder as he went back into the kitchen. He set his dishes into the sink and finished the rest of his coffee quickly. If he had enough time, he could pop into a cafe downtown and get another one. Although ingesting _more_ caffeine felt like a good way to make himself _more_ nervous. It was why he was taking the train in the first place. Usually he didn't like to be around crowds at rush out, but he hoped it would take his mind off his nerves. 

“At your current speed, you will arrive at 8:24 A.M.”

“Perfect,” Tom said. He retrieved his jacket from the closet, picked up his briefcase, and nodded, “Shiv honey? I’m headed out! I’ll see you tonight. I love you!”

“Bye Tom. Let me know how it goes.”


	2. poor boy workin' on a song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg braces himself for his new job.

Greg paced outside of Waystar. The streets were bustling with people rushing to work, shouting into their watches and headsets. A very angry looking man stepped out of a self-driving car, and slammed the door shut behind him. Greg practically leapt out of his way as he continued down the sidewalk. New York had been particularly aggressive since he’d arrived. 

His instructions from his grandfather had been _very_ clear. His instructions from the Ghosts had been even clearer. It wasn’t like the Roys had ever done anything for him. In fact, it was Waystar that had directly harmed him. He shouldn’t be hesitating to do what he was supposed to. 

The suit, which was a leftover from the days his father had still lived with them, didn’t fit right. The pants were too short, the jacket too tight. It had been a long time since he’d seen any of his cousins, and even so, he was supposed to talk to someone named Tom, which was, he thought, Shiv’s boyfriend, but he wasn’t sure. He’d done a cursory glance online about him, but the man was like every other rich wannabe who sucked up enough until he found somebody. Ewan had plenty to say when Greg was still home, but Greg hadn’t exactly thought less of Tom. Called him every name in the book.

Everybody was just trying to get by. Wasn’t that what he was doing too? Just trying to get by in this shit hole.

Although, Greg looked around at the neon skyline, the high skyscrapers and the monorails that snaked around the buildings like a skyline highway. It was a far cry from the underground base of the Ghosts he’d been sleeping in for the past week. Greg had always thought that “underground resistance” was just some kind of metaphor. You know, hidden away and out of sight, not literally underground. The New York Ghosts headquarters was in the abandoned underground train system, which had been left to rot in favor of the sleek and shiny monorails in the sky.

This city was clean and bright and, if Greg didn’t know better, beautiful. It looked like the kind of utopia he’d probably dreamt about as a kid, before life had gone to hell. But it wasn’t that. Because he knew there was poverty, knew that Waystar owned everything, including, according to his grandfather, the souls of its employees. 

Greg didn’t want to be a rebel. 

He didn’t want to be a Ghost, didn’t want to be anything. He wanted to go home, and take care of his mother, and live out his life as far away from this city as possible. He knew Waystar would be there, in his local grocery store, in his watch and on his internet, but Greg didn’t even care. 

_What are you waiting for?_ The message from his grandfather dinged on his watch. He should have guessed that Ewan would have been tracking him. Greg swiped the message away, squared his shoulders, and stepped inside. The lobby had an old fashioned feel to it. Early 21st century, Greg thought. But the sleep computers were modern, of course, as were the metal detectors he stepped through. No one was around-- it was all automated. Greg did his best to take as many mental notes as he could. The Ghosts would interrogate him about it when they next spoke about the layout, and the security, and what, exactly, he had to go through to get up to the offices. 

He made his way to the counter, and produced the card he’d been supplied. It scanned and beeped. 

“Gregory Hirsch,” the computer said, in it’s robotic voice. Ewan _hated_ the robotic voices of the older computer models. He would have been ranting about it now if he were here, “Press your hand to the pad.”

A black, metallic pad opened up on the counter, with a green lit hand outline. Greg placed his hand down and the light scanned his palm. 

“Scan complete,” it said, “Identification now in system. Proceed forward.”

Ewan and the Ghosts had told him about this, that it was fine because he was a Roy, and so it wouldn't matter if his fingerprints got all over the family’s things. Greg sort of felt like he was playing chess, only he was the piece. 

When he was little, before all the bad stuff had happened, when his dad had still loved him-- somewhere in his head, his mother told him not to talk like that-- he and his father used to play chess. Greg had never been very good, but they’d spent hours up at the cabin in front of a chess board. Greg didn’t like it, but he’d _craved_ the time with his father, with nothing else but the wooden pieces and the uncomfortable and old chairs they sat in. 

Greg would, inevitably lose. Samuel Hirsch wasn’t the kind of man to let his son win just because he was a child, he’d shake his head and put the pieces back in their spot. 

“You’re in control,” Samuel would say, “The pieces don’t move themselves Greg.”

He always thought it was a weird thing to say. Of _course_ they didn’t move themselves. They were old carved wood and didn't care when Greg got mad at them when he lost again. It wasn’t even one of the robotic sets that you could program to win through your phone. But Greg sort of felt sorry for the chess pieces now. They didn’t move themselves. Neither did Greg anymore. 

The gate swung open. Greg took a deep breath, and stepped through, making his way to the elevator. He didn’t really like the idea of Waystar having his fingerprints on file, but the Canadian police department also had them on file, so this wasn't really that much worse. Besides, this was nepotism. What was a little criminal history-- and he was sure if he looked hard enough he could find something on the Roys-- between family?

And it wasn’t that big a deal. He’d been doing this kind of stuff since he was a child. And fundamentally, it was right. The Ghosts were the good guys. They were. The rich didn’t care about the homeless on the street, didn’t care that Greg’s entire life could be found with one internet search. Didn’t care about his mother or him or anything at all. He knew that the rich and famous didn’t care about anybody but themselves, that they could get away with murder and assault and everything in between. The government was corrupt, the one percent owned everything, all the tenets of the Ghosts beliefs, the one’s his grandfather had read to him as a bedtime story. 

And, sure, the technology was good, that was true, Greg thought as he pressed the button in the elevator for floor 60, where he’d been told to report. He’d have probably died in the accident without it, but Greg just wanted to live a normal life. What the fuck were the Ghosts, a bunch of idealists with big dreams and ancient technology going to do against a company like Waystar, that owned ninety percent of the world now, and, if the deal Greg had seen on the news went through, _all_ of the world. 

The elevator flew up, and Greg shifted his bag on his shoulder. He should reply to Ewan, but he decided against it. He could call him after the day was over. There wasn’t even anything to report back yet.


	3. there you'll find the king of the mines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom gets a talk from Logan, and meets Greg who... isn't quite as he expected.

Tom stood in front of Logan’s desk, shifting his weight back and forth like a little kid about to be in trouble. He knew that Logan didn’t particularly like him, thought he wasn’t good enough for Shiv-- and privately Tom agreed with him. But since he’d _seen_ the way Logan interacted with the people he _hated_ Tom was fairly confident that this would be alright. 

Logan’s office was on the very top floor. Nearly in the clouds, several stories above even the highest monorail tracks. 

“So,” Logan said, not bothering to look up from his computers, “Cruises. You ready to fuckin’ take on the challege? Shiv says you are.”

“Yes sir,” Tom said. It made him feel kind of warm inside that Shiv had said that. That she’d talked him up to her father. Even if Logan sounded like he thought it felt like bullshit. 

“Take care of the Hirsch boy too,” Logan said absentmindedly. Tom wondered if he _actually_ even knew Greg’s name. Given his age-- he wasn’t _that_ old, and he looked good for his age, but Logan was adamant about refusing biological advances unless they were medically necessary. Shiv had said he’d always been like that. Logan wasn’t stopping by any doctor’s offices for memory boosts, that was true, but Tom thought he was still pretty sharp, “I see he’s here. It’s just something to help my brother out.”

“Of course I will,” Tom replied. Actually he really didn’t give a shit one way or the other about Greg. Despite what Shiv had said, Logan always maintained the family was the most important thing. If Greg proved himself, then Tom would be shipped back off to Hong Kong or fucking _space_ or something, and not moved up in the world, like he wanted to be. If Greg was _good_ then Tom was screwed, so all Tom had to do was to make sure that Greg _wasn’t_ good, that he didn’t even have the opportunity to be good, “I’d be happy to show him the ropes you know?”

“Fuckin’ sad life,” Logan shook his head and sighed. Tom didn’t know if Logan was talking about Greg exactly, but reminded himself he didn’t care, “Alright. Dismissed.”

Tom turned on his heel and tried not to bolt out of the office. _That_ was what he’d worried himself sick over on the metro? That was all of two minutes. He’d probably be in the office before Greg had even made it up the elevator. 

All he had to do was play nice enough. He’d be Greg’s boss, so it would be easy to keep him down a bit. He could even fudge it a bit on his reports back to Logan. Once he and Shiv married in the spring, he was pretty sure Logan would fully consider him a part of the family-- maybe he was just hopeful-- and then he’d be on even footing with Greg. Shiv was the favorite after all, whether or not she or her brothers realized it. 

Back on the 60th floor, he scanned into the offices and brushed past the front desk. The phone rang and was answered all internally. They used to have a human receptionist ages ago, probably before Tom was even born, who’d been replaced by an android, who was noticeably absent this morning. Maintenance maybe. Tom didn’t really care either way.

“Oh,” someone said, and Tom looked up from the tablet on the desk to see who was speaking, "Are you Tom?"

“You must be Greg,” Tom said. He thought about offering a hand but decided better of it. His mother would have his head if she ever found out, but she didn’t need to know, “Shiv’s cousin.”

He was older than his photos, that was true. His suit didn’t fit, he needed a haircut, and he looked like he didn’t get enough to eat. He didn’t look much like the Roys-- maybe Kendall a _little_ bit, but he must have favored his Hirsch genes. He didn’t look like the sort of person with an arrest record and a history of protesting. He sort of looked like the kind of guy who was probably fixing the receptionist android right now. Tom had always imagined people with a criminal past to, well, look like criminals. Not gawky men in suits. 

That was Tom’s initial impression at least. His tie was crooked too. And an ugly maroon color. Someone needed to take this man to get some proper clothing.

“Uh yeah, Greg,” he stuck out his hand first, so Tom accepted his fate and shook it, “Greg Hirsch. Not Roy. Common mistake though, like, people think it’s Roy. But it’s Hirsch. You knew I was coming?”

“Right. Yes I knew. Of course I knew,” Tom replied, “Hirsch. So I guess you’re going to be my little assistant huh? Must be a hard job to come by in this day and age. Even my mother had a robotic assistant when I was growing up.”

Greg blinked at him, “I guess. Is there like, something I can _assist_ you with?”

It wasn’t mean to sound sarcastic, at least Tom didn’t think so, but he didn’t like Greg’s tone. He was the one working a shitty job that should have been made robotic years ago, because… he couldn’t get a job elsewhere? Why _was_ Greg here?

“Yes actually. Go downstairs, outside and to the cafe across the street and get me a latte. ”

“Uh sure,” Greg said, though Tom got the impression this was not what he expected. But he wasn’t giving Greg the upperhand. Let him spend his hours getting coffee and picking up forms and shit like that. No way to advance if Tom didn’t let him, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

“I’ll be here,” Tom replied. He turned on his heel and went into his office. He stole a single glance back at Greg who was standing like he was still trying to comprehend the past minute. That was fine. Logan liked to tell them it was all a game. Everybody was playing a game. Tom had his own game too, really, in the end. He had his own interests. If it made Logan happy to send Greg on errands, that was fine. But Greg was not here to replace him. Really, he did believe Shiv when she said that. And wasn’t healthy competition good anyway?

Like there was any competition left. Like Waystar didn’t own the globe.


	4. life ain't easy, life ain't fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets preemptively chewed out by Ewan and tries to form an opinion on his new boss.

“So?” Ewan said in Greg’s ear while Greg waited for Tom’s coffee. Greg glanced around the cafe, half robotic, half human. The woman behind the counter-- the only human employee it seemed-- looked a bit frazzled, “You’re in?”

“Yeah,” Greg said, tugging on his sleeve, “Yeah I met Tom or whatever. He’s like, Shiv’s boyfriend I think. I’m getting his coffee. I don’t know Grandpa, he seems like kind of an asshole to work for.”

“Well of _course_ he is. He’d have to be to marry into that family.”

Greg understood his grandfather’s dislike of his brother, and of Waystar. But he always said “that family” like they weren’t all one family. It wasn’t even like they were distant relatives. Ewan and Logan were _brothers._

“You mark my words Greg. There are more monsters in that place than just my brother. You would be wise to keep that in mind. These people are not your friends. You have to be on your toes. No fucking around with this. It’s dangerous. A viper’s nest. Do you understand me?”

“I know that,” Greg said, hearing the annoyance creeping into his tone. He hated that his grandfather still treated him like he was twelve, and not grown up, “I know.”

Tom’s latte went out on the counter, and Greg picked it up, waved in thanks to the barista and slipped out through the crowd. He was probably running late, but it’d been more crowded than he expected. Tom would just have to accept it. 

“I have to go Grandpa, Tom wants his coffee. I’ll talk to you later.”

“They’ll want an update tonight,” he said, “You’d best prepare what you’re going to say so they can put their plans in motion.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sleeping there. So like, of course I’ll tell them.”

“Talk later.”

Sometimes Greg wished they were the kind of family that ended calls with _I love you_ but that had never been the case. Actually, Greg couldn’t remember the last time someone had told him that they loved him. He shook this thought away before he thought about it too much. That was a spiral he didn’t have time for right now.

And it wasn’t like that would happen with the Roy half of his family here anyway. He didn’t know them well, beyond interactions they’d had when he was much younger, and even so, Greg had to agree, they were probably at least slight assholes. Even Tom. Who Greg had tried to research with the Ghosts resources, but either there wasn’t much to discover beyond some public photos with Shiv and some of his college years, or Tom had paid a lot of money to have his history expunged from the internet. It made him slightly curious, but this was the definition of getting distracted, and Ewan was already usually vaguely mad at him. It was best not to make it worse.

Although, actually he hadn’t fully formed an opinion of Tom yet. He did seem like kind of an asshole, but _monster_ felt like an exaggeration, especially since Ewan hadn’t even met him. Then again, he was working at Waystar of his own volition. Anybody in the Ghosts would have said this fact alone meant Tom probably deserved all the bad things in the world. 

He made his way back to the office, up the elevator and to Tom’s office. 

“Took you long enough,” Tom said, with an extra note of venom, like Greg was delivering live saving medicine, and not an overpriced caffeinated drink. Greg didn’t know what he could have done in the twenty minutes they’d known each other to justify that kind of anger, but he didn’t really want to let himself care. 

“Sorry man,” Greg replied, setting the cup down, “It was really crowded.

“Alright, well go find yourself a cubicle or whatever. I’ll let you know if I need you to be useful.”

If Tom wasn’t going to assign him work, that was fine. Greg already had assignments to do here, for the people he was _actually_ working for. The work he had to do, the things he had to memorize, and the shit he was supposed to steal already kept him up at night. 

“Hey Greg?” Tom asked, before Greg could make his way out of the office. He looked back and there was… a smirk on his face. Greg swallowed.

“Yes?”

“Does you uncle know about your _excessively_ long arrest record of yours?” He seemed satisfied with his question and Greg felt like he was being teased or something. What did Tom want? For Greg to gasp dramatically and beg him not to tell Logan, and promise he’d do whatever Tom wanted so long as he kept it a secret? Greg didn’t even really care if Tom told. It was public information. 

“Uh,” Greg frowned. He had no idea why Tom knew about that. It was most expunged from the internet-- at least the really bad ones were. His grandpa had insisted the minor ones remain. He claimed it was so people would assume the rest were as stupid as those, but secretly Greg thought it was just to embarrass Greg about the things he’d done as a miserable teenager who hated everything and everyone. Either way, the fact that Tom not only looked him up, but was openly admitting to that fact was strange. He was doing some kind of weird power play or something, that had to be it, “Maybe he does? It’s a lot of stupid shit you know? Like, one time, I was at this party and we got caught drinking. I don’t know why that goes on your permanent record, cause, like, now I’m an adult and I can get drunk at parties whenever I want. It doesn’t make any sense you know? I’ve never, like, committed corporate fraud or whatever.”

There was no way he could tell Tom the real reasons for some of his criminal history. Logan could know about the underage drinking and the drugs and the stupid shit, but Logan could not know about the things that were borderline sedition and rebellion. 

Tom made a face, “You never shut up do you. Christ, get out of my office.”

Well, Greg decided as he let the office door slam. At least he finally had an opinion of Tom. Definitely an asshole. 

At least the job was temporary.

**Author's Note:**

> listen this has been sitting unwritten for a while so, as i always say, we'll see where it goes and i hope it doesn't suck!


End file.
